


Where My Armor Ends

by cmdonovann



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: M/M, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Rivalry, Sparring, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdonovann/pseuds/cmdonovann
Summary: Fighting is a give and take; a dance. Finding someone who keeps pace with him has always been a struggle for Felix.This takes place shortly before the timeskip, and sometime after Felix and Seteth's C-level support. Title is from "Pluto" by Sleeping At Last.Also, please excuse any errors. No beta reader we die like men
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Seteth, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Seteth
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	Where My Armor Ends

The Garreg Mach training ground is finally starting to clear out, the rest of the students leaving for dinner or bed, when Felix hears footsteps behind him. The sound is so quiet as to be almost imperceptible, a soft rhythm against the dusty ground. He looks up, brushing away the hair that falls in his eyes.

The man standing before him in the fading orange light of the evening looks just as weary as Felix feels, though he does his best to conceal it.

"Seteth," Felix says, setting down the cloth he was using to clean his sword and returning it to its scabbard as he stands. "Spying on me again?"

"Not spying," Seteth says with a shake of his head, "merely waiting for the training grounds to become less... crowded."

"You were waiting for me to leave?" Felix asks, the frown that's not visible on his face apparent in his tone of voice. He leans one shoulder against a pillar at the edge of the training ground, the sharp angle of the sun as it approaches the horizon casting all but his face in shadow.

"Of course not," Seteth replies. He glances around the training pitch, ensuring that they are alone. "If I'm being honest, I would prefer to spar with you rather than your house leader."

Felix laughs, a single short, harsh sound. "I feel the same way. I'm just surprised you want to spar at all."

Seteth meets Felix's eyes for a moment, contemplating. "It has been some time since I have had to put my skills to use," he admits, "but I fear with what is coming, I may be needed on the battlefield sooner rather than later."

Felix's face betrays no emotion; no alarm at Seteth's grim prediction, nor concern or inquisition. His face is unreadable in a familiar way that Seteth recognizes as intentional.

"You need a little practice, huh?"

"Indeed," Seteth nods. He casts a glance around the sparring ground, training weapons lined along the wall furthest from the door. He paces over to inspect them, taking up a practice lance and testing its weight in one hand, then the other.

"So, you prefer the lance," Felix says observationally, pushing himself up off the pillar he was standing against and joining Seteth, looking over his shoulder.

"I am most proficient with a lance or an axe, yes," Seteth says, not looking at Felix. "But I'd be glad to brush up on my sword technique as well, if that is what you would prefer to practice."

Felix says nothing. He brushes wordlessly past Seteth and crouches down to look through the rack of practice swords. Seteth watches curiously as he skims a hand along each blade, unperturbed by the strands of dark hair falling into his eyes, not quite long enough to remain tied back with the rest. After a moment Felix picks one of the swords, standing to hold it at arm's length and test its balance.

"Here," he offers the blade to Seteth. 

The sword looks lighter than what Seteth is used to, but he takes it with a small nod to Felix and grips it, adjusting to its weight and shape in his hand. The blade is unsharpened, like all the other practice weapons, but it reflects the fading orange sun in glints across the walls as he turns it over in his hand.

"Ready?" Felix asks, drawing his own sword. He paces across the field, his footsteps nearly silent if not for the stillness around them and the particular way the columns of the training grounds echo. He turns to face Seteth, his face deadly serious.

Seteth holds his sword out in preparation, watching Felix carefully.

"Ready."

For a moment neither of them move, analyzing each other. Then Felix rushes toward Seteth, blade coming down from above. He blocks the blow easily, surprised by the strength with which Felix's sword clashes against his. The sound rings through the training ground, clear and bright and metallic. Seteth pushes the younger man back, dodging to one side and taking a shallow swipe at Felix's side. He misses narrowly as Felix darts away, the motion so quick and fluid he nearly misses it as Felix thrusts toward the handle of Seteth's sword, attempting to disarm him.

"Impressive," Seteth manages as he dodges away from Felix's blade again, thrusting his own at the young man's shoulder only to be thrown back by the force with which Felix twists his blade, nearly wrenching Seteth's out of his grasp again.

"Hm," is Felix's only reply, his eyes remaining fixed intently on Seteth as he dodges another blow and attempts once more to knock Seteth's weapon away. Their swords clash together with a high ringing echo through the columns that surround them, and Felix struggles to push the older man back.

"You're stronger than I thought," Seteth says through gritted teeth. Felix finally succeeds at knocking him back, locking the cross-guard of his blade into the edge of Seteth's and flinging it away from him. It lands a few feet away with a metallic thud in the dust.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Felix asks with a scowl, still holding his sword up defensively as Seteth retrieves his own. His body language reminds Seteth of a cat with its hackles raised, trying to appear larger.

"It is," Seteth replies flatly, dusting off the grip of his sword with the edge of his cloak. He pushes a strand of hair from his face where it had been sticking to his forehead and sighs, unbuttoning his cloak to set it aside on the stone steps around the edge of the field. 

"Again?" Felix asks, raising an eyebrow. In answer, Seteth rushes toward him, swinging his blade around from a lower angle this time. Felix's eyes widen but he blocks the blow nonetheless, pulling his sword away with a spin as he backs up and takes a swing at Seteth with the momentum. Seteth dodges, barely, and takes a step back as Felix continues toward him, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tries to land a hit on Seteth.

Now on the defensive, Seteth focuses all his energy on dodging and blocking Felix's attacks, continuing to back away each time he takes a swing. Felix's face is unreadable, and his body language doubly so, making it difficult to predict his movements. Any opening Seteth might detect is a moment too late for him to react.

Frustrated, Seteth waits for Felix to come at him and dodges to one side as fast as he can manage, twisting beneath Felix's blade by only a hair's breadth and aiming for the young man's side with his own. To his surprise, Felix blocks the blow and pushes Seteth back, throwing him off balance. He goes sprawling backwards into the dust, his sword skittering out of reach across the dusty training ground.

"You're really out of practice, aren't you?" Felix asks, standing over Seteth, sword still in hand.

"I said that I prefer the lance, did I not?" Seteth responds, looking up at Felix. His chest rises and falls heavily, strands of dark hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks. The setting sun is just falling below the walls of the training ground, and from Seteth's position it glows behind Felix's head like a halo.

Felix returns his sword to its scabbard and turns, crossing the field back to the rack of training weapons. Seteth pushes himself up and dusts himself off, watching as Felix sorts through the lances.

"Is this the one you were looking at?" Felix turns and tosses the weapon to him from across the field. Seteth catches it, feeling its weight in his hand.

"It is. Thank you."

Felix says nothing, drawing his sword once again. For a moment he is still, eyeing Seteth as if waiting for him to make a move.

Seteth tosses the training lance from hand to hand. Its tip is weighted to balance it like a steel lance, but it appears to be blunt to prevent injury. The handle is slightly thicker than Seteth is used to, but less so than many of the other practice weapons; heavy and clumsy, designed to be durable enough to withstand accidents without splintering in the hands of their unpracticed wielders.

"Ready?" Felix asks, a tinge of impatience— or perhaps excitement— in his voice.

"Very well," Seteth replies with a nod, gripping the lance and locking his gaze on his sparring partner.

Felix hesitates for a split second before taking his first swing. Seteth blocks it with ease, the longer reach of the lance working to his advantage. He twists Felix's sword away, knocking him off balance for a breath before he leans into the motion, dodging to one side and thrusting his sword at Seteth's open side. Seteth spins and blocks his attack again, catching Felix's sword by the cross-guard and pushing him back. Again Felix seems to stumble for a moment before regaining his footing; Seteth watches the movement, the minute change in Felix's eyes as his defense falters before he rights himself and takes another swipe at Seteth.

This time Seteth is ready, catching Felix's blade in the notched head of the spear and pulling it away from him, sending it flying across the training grounds to land with a loud clatter against the stone edge. Felix's eyes widen briefly before his usual scowl returns.

"Hm," he says, pacing across the field to retrieve his sword. "I've never seen anyone do that before."

"It has been a long time," Seteth says, wiping his forehead on his sleeve, "I couldn't tell you where exactly I learned it."

"Hm," Felix says again. He inspects his blade carefully for damage after being thrown so far. Seeming satisfied, he returns to the other side of the field. "Again?"

"Gladly," Seteth smiles warmly at him, holding his lance at the ready. For a moment Felix's expression clears, the mask he wears falling away as his cheeks, already flushed from exertion, turn an even deeper pink. But then his gaze shifts, his eyes focus on Seteth's lance rather than his smile, and the mask is back, full of icy determination and stubbornness once more.

Seteth makes the first move this time, rushing at Felix as if to run him through. Felix twists out of the way gracefully, catching the grip of Seteth's lance with his blade in his spin, using his momentum to push Seteth past him and leave his back open to attack. He follows the movement through, swinging his sword around and down in a silver arc, orange sunset flashing on his blade. The swing misses Seteth's shoulder by inches, catching the loose part of his sleeve and tearing it.

"Ah—" Seteth gasps in surprise. He sidesteps Felix's swing carefully, turning around him like a dance. He faces Felix again just in time to block another swing back up from the last. The blade hits the wooden shaft of his lance at its center and sends splinters flying upward. Seteth's eyes widen in surprise, backing away quickly. The lance isn't broken, but the splintered area seems painful to grip.

He snaps it fully over his knee, tossing aside the bottom half. Felix raises an eyebrow at him.

"What are you—"

He doesn't have time to finish the sentence. Seteth rushes toward him, still wielding the top half of the lance, taking advantage of Felix's confusion to attack him head on, knocking his sword away easily and pushing him back against one of the columns.

"Shit—" Felix swears as his sword clatters against the stone behind him, his back pressed into the column. He looks up at Seteth with alarm, the point of his lance inches from Felix's chest. He takes a deep breath, his eyes fixed on the point of Seteth's weapon.

"You're going to need a new lance."

Seteth blinks once, then bursts into laughter, dropping the broken lance at his side.

"What's so funny?" Felix asks, his brows furrowed.

"Ah, nothing," Seteth says, waving one hand dismissively, the other braced on his knee as he catches his breath. "I simply forgot how enjoyable this can be, with the right sparring partner."

Felix snorts and looks away, though Seteth can see him blushing furiously behind the loose hair that obscures his face.

"You're not so bad yourself."

Felix retrieves his fallen sword and turns again to the rack of training weapons, looking for a sturdier lance.

"Well—" Seteth begins.

Felix's head snaps around to look at him.

"—I ought to have another try with the sword, now that I've warmed up."

Felix raises an eyebrow, watching Seteth cross the field to pick up the training sword he had dropped earlier.

"Your loss," Felix says, and though he doesn't smile, his eyes and his tone do. He returns to the field and draws his sword once more.

"Don't be so certain."

Seteth makes the first move, feinting a jab at Felix's shoulder and pulling back just before their swords collide, swinging around at his side instead. Felix counters the attack, but just barely, Seteth's blade glancing off the hilt of his own just above his hand. He ducks to one side, expecting Seteth to swing higher again, and instead is met with another thrust at his chest that almost lands before Felix can parry.

Their eyes meet for the briefest moment as Felix dodges away, circling around Seteth's side and analyzing his movements. Seteth smiles at him, almost tauntingly, and Felix takes the bait, his face intense as he swings around and down at Seteth.

Their swords meet with a sharp, sustained clash. Seteth looks Felix dead in the eye as Felix tries and fails to push him back, then kicks one of Felix's feet out from under him.

The younger man lands in the dust with a dull thud, his sword falling at his side. Seteth grins, pointing his own blade down at Felix's throat.

For what seems like an eternity, all Felix can do is stare up at the man above him, hair wild and chest heaving from exertion, an uncharacteristic grin of triumph on his face.

"I wouldn't have expected a move like that from you," Felix says finally. He throws up his hands. "I yield."

"Thank you," Seteth replies, his face suddenly serious again. He lowers his sword and wipes at his forehead with one sleeve. "Your skills are exemplary as well."

Felix scoffs. "Sure."

"We should do this again sometime." Seteth says, leaning down to offer Felix a hand. Felix's face, already pink from effort, flushes red again.

He takes Seteth's hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Update! I did some art to go with this fic. You can find it here: https://twitter.com/CMDonovann/status/1294017851708387329?s=20


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